


A Taste of Something New

by theadamantdaughter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon gives Sansa head because she's a queen, Jonsa Smut Week, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 18:16:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadamantdaughter/pseuds/theadamantdaughter
Summary: For Jonsa Smut Week, Day One: Trying Something New or Teasing.Sansa lets Jon try something new between the sheets, and there's the slightest touch of teasing.





	A Taste of Something New

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jonsasnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsasnow/gifts).



"Sans..." Jon hums her name, his breath caressing her neck.

She rakes her fingers up his back, mapping familiar muscles before cording through his hair. His lips hover over her collarbone for a moment longer, then Jon moves down her.

He leaves a trail of open-mouth kisses on her sternum, following the path with his fingertips. His thumbs swirl around the peaks of her breasts until they pebble up, then he suckles them roughly, making Sansa hiss his name. His touch travels across her stomach, his tongue hot and wet on her navel. His teeth nip at her left hip; his hand grabs the right.

Jon hooks his thumb in her panties, and Sansa closes her eyes as he pulls the lace past her ankles. Even without looking, she can feel his gaze all over her skin. It makes her breath quick.

"Sansa."

She opens her eyes at his gentle persuasion. Jon's perched on his knees, stroking himself as dark, lusty grey drinks her in.

Sansa draws her legs up and together, color staining her cheeks. "You're staring at me, Jon."

"Is that not allowed?" Jon smiles at her. He forgets his cock and slides closer to her, tickling the sides of her calves. "You look like a queen."

"Do I?"

She's never let a man do this, but Jon begged. The taste of her tongue isn't enough. The feel of her legs wrapped around his waist doesn't entirely satisfy him. He wants to know the flavor of her slick, swollen sex, and he wants to savor it.

But, Sansa's nervous as hell, and it shows with a sharp retort. "Is this a position you normally find queens in?"

"No. Only you." A snorting laugh curls Jon's lips. His tongue flicks over them like he's anxious.

Maybe he is. His fingers tremble slightly at Sansa's knees, but Jon keeps their gaze locked as he slowly pushes her legs apart.

"Trust me," he murmurs, his mouth against her thigh.

Sansa steadies herself with a sigh, with her fingers twisted up in the sheets. "I do."

His lips follow the curve of muscle up, stopping just short of where her leg meets her hip. His hands settle under the curve of her ass, holding her still; Sansa can feel his breath whispering against the curls there. His beard grazes sensitive skin.

But, Jon starts with only a peck, carefully placed on the inside of her left thigh. He makes his way to the other with staccato kisses, taking his time and never giving much. 

His teeth taunt her next, nibbling at her skin.

Sansa's surprised by the heat that unfurls in her blood, like coal's been dropped in the pit of her stomach, making her cunt ache.

"Jon," she pleads.

Sansa's heels dig into the mattress; her hips lurch upward. She bites her bottom lip, but a strangled moan can be heard in her throat anyway. Her body begs for him on its own accord, embarrassingly so.

"Are you still sure you want to try this?" Jon nudges her sex with his nose, digging his fingers into the curve of her ass. His eyes close halfway, and he inhales her. "I'll stop if you tell me."

"No. Don't, please. Jon, Please."  

The thought of anything else fades. Everything is centered on the warmth of his mouth.

His tongue drags up her folds, and she doesn't need his hungry sigh to know that she's delicious to him. A louder hum vibrates up from his chest, ripping every bit of sense from her and focusing it on her clit.

Sansa forgets the sheets and finds fistfuls in his hair. The thick, raven curls are all that ground her. She feels as if she's made up of snowflakes- so delicate, so fragile.

She freezes when he kisses away from her clit, tense and anxious for more. She melts when his tongue makes languid circles. She trembles, whines, falls apart when his fingers spread her wet lips, and he nibbles on her, sucks on her, spells his name on her sex.

_Jon Snow. Jon Snow. Jon Snow._

"Fuck." Her toes curl as she grinds against his chin, her back curves above the bed. "Jon. _Jon-"_

He slips his fingers inside her, working them in tandem with the circles his tongue makes. She loses herself to the feel of his lips and the heat in her stomach turns molten.

Only her head, hips, and feet touch the bed. Sansa pulls his hair so tight, she hasn't a clue how it doesn't bring tears to his eyes. And his mouth is perfect, pleasing her, tormenting her, drawing nothing but cries and whimpers from her.

She comes with a cry so loud it seems to shake the room, and Jon laps at her, slowly, gently, enjoying the taste of her release.

When she finally catches her breath, he lifts his head. "Good?" he asks.

"Yes." Sansa swallows, relaxing her hold on his hair. _“God._ Yes.”

She coaxes him up, linking her hands behind his neck. His chin glistens from her, and when Jon kisses her, Sansa can taste herself on his lips. She moans, seeking out more of his tongue, grinding against his hard cock in a plea to be fucked.

“Jon,” she murmurs, having broken away for a moment to push him onto his back. “Do it again.”

He holds her waist tight, looking desperate, looking famished. "When?"

They groan in unison as she sinks down on him, then Sansa rocks, a devilish grin curling her lips.

"When you finish. You can see how I taste after you’ve had me.”

 

 

 


End file.
